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2013.10.13 - The Little Mortuary
There is no sign outside this small, private club in an undisclosed location in New York City's surprisingly-trendy-despite-its-name Meat Packing District. But there is a small image burned into the wood of the door. A rose in full bloom, with a skull at it's centre. It has yet to open, but when it does, it will be known to its members as La Petit Morte. The latest in Jeannette's business ventures. With an interior making heavy use of velvet, lace, and plenty of private rooms (some of which are locked and hidden away from visitors as of yet), it's clear this is one of her more... risque places. On the top floor, she has her office, where she looks quite at home amidst the furniture, both antique and... specialty. While the club is not yet open for business, she is making the use of her office for a meeting today. Boring! No music, no crowd, no people?! Sin got all excited for nothing! She's wearing her typical corset with stiletto blades, but she decided to wear a snug little black mini skirt with an overlay of black lace. She still has the thigh high red leather boots, with the tips of black thigh highs peeking out of the tops, held in place by black garner straps. She picked a smaller gun this time with a smaller caliber bullet that can be hidden up beneath her skirt without being too obvious, strapped to her thigh. "This doesn't look fun at all Father," whining slightly. She tsks. Excited for NOTHING. There's only one way for a traditionalist to arrive for a meeting at a... novelty club in New York. The black stretch limo that pulled to a stop several minutes ago at the front of the club looks like it was lifted straight from the heartless villain of a corporate eighties movie. As the door to the club closes behind him, a man who looks every bit the part makes his way confidently through the foyer that looks exactly like you'd expect it to. Unlike his daughter, he has toned down the overt villainy for his trip to the city. He pulls down the front of his immaculately tailored black suit, making final adjustments to his wardrobe on his way to the office that he appears to not have needed an appointment to reach. A blonde man in his mid-forties, by all appearances. There is something about his face that's a bit off, however, as if he has had plastic surgery. Or, you know, covered his entire head in an artificial dermis in order to keep from being recognized by everyone who has ever seen the History Channel. "Be silent, dumm zuchtkuh! If you are going to be my successor, you must learn that there is more to leadership than arterial spray." His tone is not angry, but he speaks in a way that leaves no room whatsoever for discussion. He continues down the hallway to the office, pausing outside the door. "Hopefully, you'll learn something about patience from our hostess." As he knocks on the door, he adds as an afterthought. "Hopefully, you won't learn much else from her..." "You should come on opening night, darling," Jeannette responds, opening the door to her office herself, instead of having one of the handful of attractive (and probably superhuman) minions do it for her. She gives Johann's daughter a clearly appreciative once-over. "You'd fit right in." She walks back into her office, leaving the doors open in invitation. She gives Johann a "tsk" of her own. "Afraid I'll be a bad influence, Johann?" she makes an exaggerated pout. "I'm heartbroken." As if she still possessed a beating heart at all. And Sin's response? "Moooooo!" No shit. But Sin quiets down when Jeannette speaks up, an eyebrow raising. "Depends if you like your clientele to squeal like stuck pigs before they bleed out." And she grins, wickedly. The girl has a slight German accent, but it has faded over the years. Still, Sin does a once over of Jeannette, an eyebrow raising. "Victorian much?" She mmmms, "You always had a fetish for the OLD blood Father." It is really a challenge toward Jeannette than to Red Skull. Though there is a sly coy smile of mild interest. The look that flashes over Johann's face is probably exactly what the facial approximation of a groan looks like. "You'll have to forgive my daughter. She has all the subtlety of a washerwoman." Funny thing, that... He walks in with the air of someone who might not necessarily own the place, but who at least feels as if he's renting it. Measured strides bring him over to a couch that looks as if were designed by an unholy collaboration between the Marquis de Sade and HP Lovecraft. If he's appraising anything at the moment, it's almost certainly the decor. "I've made some attempts to elevate her education, but you know how children are. It's all 'But Vater... I haven't cut a throat all day...' Tedious." Even though he's openly disparaging toward his progeny, it's done with a tone that has a bit more affection than one might expect a man who actually answers when people call him 'Red Skull' might have. "Oh, do you think me so young as to be a /Victorian?/ relic?" Jeannette says, tilting her head to the side as she looks at Sin. "I'll take that as a compliment." Smirk. She listens patiently to Johann's complaints, eyebrows raised. "So, what, you'd like to send her to me for... some sort of finishing school arrangement?" she asks, looking back to Sin. She takes a step closer and breathes deeply. Her eyes darken. "Mmm, yes, quite cloying, really. You aren't just talking the talk, little one, are you? A natural born killer. No remorse, no regrets." She says this in a way that says this is an admirable quality to her. "Is that washing or spreading legs? I can't remember." A roll of Sin's eyes as her Father makes a reference to her mother. But her eyes then narrows at Jeannette, dangerously for a second before she smiles seemingly sweetly. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. I'm a Daddy's girl." There is a certain poise from Sin, as if she realizes Jeannette is someone she shouldn't let too close. "There are a few things I'd feel bad about, so I just won't do. Anything else? Fair game." Her loyalty very much established right then and there. "But this meeting isn't about me," and she moves then. A sly grace, more with a strut than a feline quality to it, as Sin then finds one of Jeannette's more antique pieces and smirks. With her gloved (though fingerless gloves) hands she lifts herself up easily up onto it, her rump wiggling for comfort level as her ankles cross cutely. She then beams a happily smile. "My ass on quality. I like this. I do enjoy quality over quantity. You can always find replacements for the minions. But dependability is always a concern as personal interests can always conflict with the greater group. Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself Jeanette dear," a soft laugh coming from her. "I'm /DYING/ to know." Yes, Sin just made a pun, a terrible one at that, on purpose. Although he's arranged in such a fashion that he can't help but feel relaxed, Johann still seems a bit less comfortable than would perhaps be ideal. His gloved hands brush quickly against the side of his face, but he fights the urge to 'mess with' the elaborate mask he's wearing any further. "Ah, but if we're going to hear this story, I simply must have a drink." With a somewhat heavy grunt, he stands up to his feet. Clearly he's not quite as spry as he used to be. He's certainly spry enough to make his way over to the closest decanter. He doesn't seem particularly interested in what's inside, pouring a glass as indiscriminately as one might pour Pepsi from a soda fountain. "You may learn more about me, if your father gives us the time for you to do so," she smiles. "Though I imagine there are tales he could tell you himself, if he were inclined to," she says. "So, what does bring you and your lovely daughter to my doorstep, Herr Schmidt? Certainly you are not just here for stories." A soft mmmm, "Would a bedtime story or two hurt?" Sin then sighs, before slipping off the antique furniture and moving toward her Father. She doesn't touch him, but she almost seems to stand near him in silent comfort...as much as a psychotic daddy obsessed girl can provide moral comfort. She stands in a protective manner by him when she looks toward Jeannette. Not that Jeannette likely overly mind the 'MY DADDY' look from Sin. She is likely more than willing to let Sin keep him alllll to herself. "There will be plenty of time for you two to prattle on and gossip. Because, actually, my daughter is wrong. This meeting is, in fact, about her." As he takes a sip from the rocks glass (with no rocks in it, obviously), the look of discomfort on his face is subdued to a mere crinkle around the corners of his eyes. He casts down his gaze at his daughter with a look that normal people are simply incapable of replicating. Of course, normal people have their actual faces. "As a matter of courtesy, considering our past, I have come in person to inform you that Sin will now be your contact with HYDRA. Other matters require my attention of late, but I trust that offering you the services of my own offspring will be an adequate demonstration of my continued devotion to your welfare?" Jeannette smiles. "That would be... most suitable," she reaches for a drink of her own, a mix of absinthe and champagne ("Death in the Afternoon") and smiles over the glass. "This should make for quite the interesting arrangement." She looks to Sin, "There are a few private rooms downstairs. You may lay claim to one as your own, if you wish to visit often. I only ask you not kill any of my clientele." A pause. "Or my staff." "I'm sure we would get along just swell, Father. Like two peas in a pod. Might even get to learn a few new 'techniques'." Sin steals a side-long look at her Father. What was that look?! Sin then smiles at Jeanette. But Jeanette's words only have Sin rolls her eyes, "Seriously, I don't shit in my backyard. You only wound them, so they heal and you can hurt them again later." It's like DUH! Though there is the look of humor in Sin's eyes. "But I don't need a room sweetheart, home is where my Father and Sisters are. You aren't a Sister of Sin." Jeannette only smiles at first, still trying to size the girl up. She likes this one. Feisty. Bratty, even. Always a fun challenge. "Ah, well, I'm sure we can find some way for me to repay you for your... service on behalf of Hydra. I do appreciate it. We'll work something out, I'm sure." She stands up, only to sit on the edge of her own desk. "Is this all, Johann, or did you have any other matters to discuss?" "It's quite fortunate that you keep your clubs so well-perfumed. Otherwise I'm quite sure that the foul stench of estrogen would be absolutely overpowering in here." With a quick backward jerk of his head, he finishes the rest of his glass, and sets it back down next to the decanter. Here's hoping some poor slob uses it before it's washed. "So eager to be rid of me already? Mind my feelings, mein lieber Nutte Prinzessin, they bruise so easily." Sin chokes on laughter a bit at /THAT/ pet name. Princess Hooker? Seriously?! She thinks she prefers being called Brooding Cow. "You say just the sweetest things Father." She shakes her head. She still wonders if Jeannette can actually give them anything useful...then again, if rich and influential people attend her establishment, information might be an avenue. "You wound me, Johann. You know my noble blood doesn't run quite /that/ thick. A simple 'Lady' will suffice," she says with a laugh, clearly not terribly insulted by the name. "And I don't actually sleep with my clients these days, you know. The ones who come to me now have much more interesting tastes. And so much more useful information for me." She smiles again. Category:Log